


Only You

by bluefallenfandomwallflowers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Dreams, Emotional Hurt, Episode: s12e19 The Future, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Dean, I'm Literally Crying, Implied Dream Sex, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sam is a great brother, Sweet Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 21:13:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10749936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefallenfandomwallflowers/pseuds/bluefallenfandomwallflowers
Summary: “For you.” Dean is about to protest, but Cas kisses between his eyebrows. “Only you.”





	Only You

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies--
> 
> I SWEAR THIS SHOW WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME
> 
> It's strange, because nothing affects me the way this goddamn show does. Seriously, i have a knot in my chest that isn't gonna go away until I know that EVERYTHING IS OKAY, OKAY?
> 
> i can't even.
> 
> Goodness me.
> 
> Enjoy my crazy emotional thoughts
> 
> (Dedicated to my favs, Susan and Bere <3)
> 
> [Title taken from "Only You" by Selena Gomez]

There’s still sand in his hair.

It’s like a constant reminder, ironic, stupid even, because it shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

It’s like Cas’ voice is tickling his neck, whispering in his ear and reminding him of what he lost.

Sam doesn’t complain when Dean angrily pops in the tape, identical to the one he gave Cas. He remembers only a few months prior when he gave it to the angel with a quick smile and a shrug. He had been digging around in the glove box in search of an old phone after his current one had been shattered in a recent hunt and he found the mixtape jammed in the back, forgotten over the years.

After listening to it, Dean cringed, realizing that it was the somewhat gooey, lovesick tape he made all the way back when Cas was being controlled by Naomi… Or, maybe it was when Cas died? Could be when Dean was starting to turn from the Mark of Cain and he was trying to grab onto the last shred of hope, the love he suppressed…

It’s strange how he can’t remember.

What Dean _does_ recall is how during those few years, during the bad times, he listened to songs like the ones burned into this tape over and over, torturing himself like some brokenhearted teenager.

Teenager, no. Brokenhearted… all the damn time.

But he had made a second one, exact, identical, and handed it over in hopes that it would convey everything he would never be able to say.

And now Cas is gone again.

Dean grits his teeth until his ears ring. “Fucking Cas,” he spits out, ramming his hand into the dashboard.

Sam jumps in his seat, whipping his head over to look at Dean in concern. “Dean, calm down. I know it sucks--”

“- _NO_ , Sam. It doesn’t suck. It’s the fucking worst thing that could have happened.” Dean knows he sounds pissed. Sad. Dangerous. But as his gaze pierces into Sam’s soft one, tears begin to swarm. He rips his eyes back to the road and catches a pair of headlights that startle him.

He wrenches the Impala to the side of the road, Sam’s voice loud and his hand urgent on Dean’s forearm. The car comes to an abrupt stop, and that’s when Dean begins to cry.

No, not cry.

_Sob_.

In a way he hasn’t done in years, in a way that has never happened while sober. Only in the most hopeless and inebriated state has Dean let himself go this far.

And always alone.

But Sam is here and Dean can’t make himself care about it.

His head falls into his hands, body wracking, and suddenly Dean’s aware that this isn’t just sobbing. But a panic attack.

And it’s like everything stops and he can’t breathe. He freezes, mouth gaping open as fear consumes him, the image of Cas’ faint smile before sweeping his fingers over Dean’s forehead flashes across his mind.

“Dean!” Sam is worried. Just like he always is, and Dean feels horrible. He’s causing this anxiety inside his brother, in himself.

Fuck.

Strong arms circle around him.

*

_Dean’s a child again, being held against his mother after a horrible night of his father yelling, slightly drunk, throwing a beer bottle at the wall in anger. Dean can’t quite recall the reason for John’s explosion, but he knows his dad attempted to apologize right after Dean burst into tears as glass shattered._

_Mary had pulled him into the bathroom and closed the door, holding Dean against her chest while John stood outside the door. He remembers seeing the curved shape of John’s scuffed up boots through the slit beneath the door as he calmed down with his mom’s hand rubbing at his lower back._

_But John walked away while Mary whispered soft things in his ear, and Dean had felt fear._

*

Similar, but not the same as this.

Because it’s different when it’s an angelic being that Dean loves so much that it hurts. It actually hurts.

Right now his heart is throbbing painfully and he’s curled up in Sam’s broad chest like a kid. His sobs still echo across the leather seats and, yes, that’s snot on his upper lip. But Sam- _and thank God for Sam_ \- is whispering, just like Mary all those years ago, telling him that it’ll be okay, even when he knows it won’t. That Dean’s safe, although they’re never safe.

The one truth Sam repeats over and over is that he’s here.

And he won’t leave.

*

“Cas.” Dean is sitting cross-legged behind his bed. Already Sam had walked in and freaked out until Dean assured him he hadn’t disappeared. He has a bottle in his hand. Filled with water, because Sam is basically a demented nurse, minus the uniform.

Dean’s sober and it’s annoying.

“Cas,” he begins again, clearing his throat. He presses the cold surface of the bottle to his forehead. “I think you know why I’m… calling. Praying, whatever. I just-” Dean knocks his head back against the wooden bedframe. “I miss you. So _fucking much_.”

Dean thought he was done crying. “Come back, Cas. Come back.”

It’s a painstaking mantra on a loop that follows him under the covers, into his pillowcase. Into a deep sleep.

*

“I’ll always come back.”

Lips skim over his jaw, down his neck.

“You know that, don’t you, Dean?”

Dean stirs, senses lighting up even if his brain is still backed up. He’s aware of fingers lightly holding him by the hips, a leg pressed against his own.

It’s like everything disappears and he’s able to smile, groaning awake.

“Don’t you?”

He breathes. Reaches up with eyes closed and touches a firm chest. “You real?”

“Yes,” Cas whispers, tugging Dean’s shirt up. Suddenly he’s leaving open mouthed kisses along his stomach, leaving Dean to moan and fret and twist his shins in the sheets that Cas must have pulled away from him. “I’ll always come back for you.”

“You’re wrong.” Dean arches his back as Cas avoids his arousal completely. He still can’t seem to open his eyes though. He leaves it to his mouth and the words he can’t hold back, even though they hurt and all he wants right now is to be fucked into the memory foam.

“Mm?”

“You left.”

Cas pauses in his praise over Dean’s ribs. He climbs back up Dean’s body, spreading over him like butter on toast, and Dean’s hands immediately rise to Cas’ middle. “I would never completely leave you, Dean. You know that.”

“Do I?”

And finally, his eyes flutter open.

Cas is beautiful above him. His face is clear, glowing, soft. No worry lines etch across his forehead or under his eyes. He’s smiling and it’s all Dean wants to see.

“I don’t know what’s happening, Cas. With us. With you. Everything is so fucking messed up, I don’t even know which way is up anymore.”

“It’s that way,” Cas says softly, pointing towards the ceiling.

They both let out quiet laughs at Cas’ weak joke, but it fills Dean with a sort of joy. And that’s when he realizes.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?”

Cas doesn’t answer, but it’s clear in the way he brushes his thumb over Dean’s eyelid and down the bridge of his nose. “Doesn’t mean I’m not real.”

“So, you’re here?”

“For you.” Dean is about to protest, but Cas kisses between his eyebrows. “Only you.”

Finally, Dean is able to capture Cas’ lips, gasping into his mouth, conspiring Cas’ body flush against his own. “Then do me a favor and fuck me, kay?” Dean says, unraveling Cas’ tie, his trench coat nowhere in sight.

“Cute,” Cas whispers sarcastically, grinning.

*

Sam drives them home and the mixtape plays the whole way.

One might think Dean would be resentful of it, but he’s definitely in a place that requires him to grapple for even the slimmest string of sanity. The shock after his panic attack has worn away after an hour of music, Sam’s silly questions to keep Dean’s mind occupied, and a reluctant acceptance to a handful of McDonald’s fries.

It’s not something that happens often. Again, only when his sobriety has been thrown out the window.

Now Sam knows and he’s okay with it. Kind of.

Dean gives him bullshit all the time, but he knows who Sam is and how he knows pressing Dean won’t result in anything but pulling back. But he’ll always listen and care.

As he stares at the sunrise, forehead pressed against the window, Dean ponders over Cas. Not his decision, not his betrayal or withdrawal, but Cas in general.

His stupid voice and stupid hair and the way he gazes at Dean in a way he definitely doesn’t deserve.

It settles Dean into a placid state that leaves his hands weak in his lap as he thinks stupid domestic thoughts and only a sliver of hope that Cas might come back and explain everything.

His train of thought slips away again when they reach the bunker.

*

Since it’s a dream, Dean doesn’t quite feel everything to the extent he’d like to.

At times things become fuzzy and he loses sight of Cas above him, speaking in Enochian, reassuring, moving into him. It’s still a bright glow of pleasure that settles inside of him, even if the only solid thing he feels are Cas’ lips and the sound of his voice.

His orgasm is just the weave of a feather, but he still cries out and kisses Cas roughly, never wanting the dream to end.

“Don’t leave,” Dean pleads, gripping Cas’ shoulders.

Cas kisses him. Again and again. But it’s not enough.

He rises, palm resting on Dean’s heart. It’s beating impossibly fast. “I’ll always come back,” Cas whispers. He kisses Dean one last time. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Dean wakes up, cold.

The covers are twisted around his shins.


End file.
